


we will be better than i was

by sxldato



Category: Death Note
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bittersweet Ending, Canonical Character Death, Codependency, Dreams and Nightmares, Drunken Confessions, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, First Time, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Genderqueer Character, Hospitals, I'm very sorry, Inferiority Complex, Jealousy, Mental Health Issues, Near Death Experiences, Not A Fix-It, Other, Panic Attacks, Phone Calls & Telephones, Poor Life Choices, Religious Content, Resolved Sexual Tension, Rival Relationship, Sexual Content, Unhealthy Relationships, Wakes & Funerals, it's just kind of sad honestly, it's mello/near it's probably unhealthy lbr, it's pretty vague though nothing explicit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-15
Updated: 2015-06-15
Packaged: 2018-04-04 13:35:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4139526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sxldato/pseuds/sxldato
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU in which Mello swallows their pride and works alongside Near. Things aren't as different as one might expect. </p><p>((Inspired by the "things you said" prompt list that's circulating tumblr.))</p>
            </blockquote>





	we will be better than i was

**Author's Note:**

> so i saw that prompt list and i was like "hey this could be cool i should do a few of them"  
> and then i did all of them  
> why did i choose to write 10k words about a ship i have little to no experience in writing? i don't have the answer right now but i'll get back to you on that  
> ngl though, i always forget how much of an attitude near has until i do something like this. that kid can just rapid-fire insult people like jfc can we get him into a rapping tournament or something  
> i think the difference between mello and near's attitude is that mello is mean because they're angry, while near is mean because it's fun  
> this was originally gonna be a fix-it but then i realized mello's death was WAY too important and meaningful to "fix" so i left it because i'm terrible sorryyyyy  
> i've been skimming and editing as i've been writing, and then i went over it really quickly one more time after i finished, so it's like.... 3/4 beta'd?? cool  
> title is from Love Out of Lust by Lykke Li  
> \--  
> IMPORTANT: None of the exchanges are in chronological order except for the last three (things you said when we were on top of the world, things you said after it was over, things you never got the chance to say).

_Having perfected our disguise, we spend our lives searching for someone we don’t fool. – Robert Braul_

 

things you said at 1 am

There are soft, quiet sounds of nails against fabric. They are miniscule sounds, little noises that could be ignored by rolling over and shutting one’s eyes. It is easy to let the roaring of an active subconscious drown out the small indicators of movement, of wakefulness, from one’s bedfellow.

But neither of them has ever done ‘easy.’ It’s a core characteristic for them both. That’s why they’ve gotten this far.

“You’ll bleed if you keep messing with your bandages like that.” His voice rings out, hurts his own head compared to the quiet of before. “And these sheets were just washed.”

The movement falters. There is silence, the kind that thuds like a drum with each passing second on the clock, the kind that holds tension, that prickles the skin, leaves goosebumps.

“Mello, come on.”

“They itch—the burns, they itch.” There’s further movement as Mello detangles themself from the sheets. “Won’t let me sleep.”

“Didn’t they give you things to use when you left the hospital?”

“I didn’t want to wake you by getting up.”

Exhaustion is weighing him down, a lead robe over his shoulders, but the sentiment makes him smile. “I’m awake now—I’ll help you.”

“No, no.” They throw back the blankets and push themselves up. “You don’t need to help me, I’ve got it.”

“There are burns on your back that you won’t be able to reach. I’m here, I’m conscious, I might as well be productive while I’m at it.”

It’s hard to see (and not just because the moon isn’t out tonight), but there is gratitude in their eyes, in their body. When his hands touch the burns on their back, they lean into it despite the pain. Their shoulders are slumped, and they breathe slow and deep.

“If I didn’t know you any better, I’d say you’re enjoying yourself.”

Mello doesn’t respond, instead bows their head forward, revealing the back of their neck. It’s the most vulnerable they’ve let themself become since Near can remember.

“It’s been a while since someone’s been so gentle,” they finally say. “I’m savoring what I can get.”

 

things you said through your teeth

When Mello stumbles into the SPK, torn up and covered in blood, Near does not say “I told you so.” In fact, he doesn’t any anything. He picks himself off the floor and guides Mello over to a chair before their knees can buckle. Halle is already calling an ambulance, but Rester and Gevanni still have their guns out. He doesn’t have to look to know; the feral scowl on Mello’s face, their bared teeth and the tension in their shoulders—that’s enough.

“They won’t hurt you.” He’s touching Mello’s wrist, feeling the quick pulse beneath the skin, and Mello isn’t recoiling.

“Yeah.” Their mouth is bloody and it stains their tongue, their lips. “Not unless you say so.”

The air feels thick, like there’s a storm outside, but it’s a clear night.

“You wouldn’t have come if you thought I would do that.”

Their eyes are dull, but they flit between the two men, as if daring them to pull the trigger. There’s a wheezing sound coming from their chest, something like laughter.

“Mello.” His voice wavers, but it’s subtle enough that only they would have ever heard it.

“You hide behind them,” they say. “’Cause you aren’t strong enough.”

“Is that what you did with the mafia? Use them because you weren’t strong enough?”

Their wheezing laughter turns into coughing. Red spurts from their lips, and it stains the soft white cotton of Near’s shirt. “Yes,” they manage through their clenched jaw.

Near had said it as a means to point out the flaw in Mello’s logic, not to get an actual answer. And even if he had been, that isn’t the answer he would have predicted, and his pale brows come together in disbelief. “You…”

“I wasn’t strong enough.”

“I’m not so sure,” Near replies.

“No,” Mello protests. “I’ve _never_ been strong enough, and you _know_ that.” Their skin looks clammy, and they’re beginning to shake. Near makes a mental note along with another, sharper strike of fear that Mello is going into shock. He is useless right now; Mello could be dying, and there is absolutely nothing he can do about it.

“Mello, I’m sorry,” he says, laden with guilt. 

He sits with them as they both wait for the ambulance, nervously squeezing their hand all the while.

 

things you said while we were driving

“You never got your driver’s license.”

“I didn’t have the time.”

“You used to do that blank puzzle for hours, so don’t tell me you didn’t have the time.”

“How’d _you_ do it, then? Did your John pay for Driver’s Ed?”

“His name was Rodd, he wasn’t my John, and I’m gonna kick you in the fucking mouth.”

“You should really keep your feet on the pedals.”

He’s wearing these big dumb circular shades, and his oversized white button-down has slipped off one of his shoulders. Mello wonders how long it will take before he burns. They kind of want to touch him, because his skin looks damn soft and there’s a loose curl in front of his face, and if they could just reach over and—

“I don’t think you ever learned, either.”

“Sure I did. I’ve been driving for fifteen minutes and we’re not dead yet.”

“Maybe you learned, but no way you got your license. Not a _real_ one, anyway.”

“Is that judgment I hear? From the kid who dumped over a billion dollars from the top of his building?”

“That was a strategic bail, and I’m not judging.” Condensation runs down his cup of soda, and he wipes it down with the sleeve of his shirt before sucking at the straw. “You never tell me anything about those four years you were gone, and it would be nice to know if I’m harboring a fugitive or not; sorry if I’m curious.”

“Apology not accepted,” Mello says. They aren’t wearing their driving gloves because it’s too hot out for leather, so their white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel is obvious. “You don’t get to know about that part of my life, Near. I know it must kill you to realize you can’t always know everything, but that’s how it’s gonna be.”

“You’re only doing this because you want control over something.”

“Yes, that is exactly why. If you thought I would have some shame and not admit that, you were wrong.” 

“You’re sure you wouldn’t prefer to tell me rather than having me find out some other way? Because I will get the information somehow. I always do.”

Mello keeps their eyes on the road, but they’re smiling, and it’s the kind of smile that makes a person fear for their life.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, nothing, it’s just…” Their scar is harsher in the light, more grotesque. “You really think I didn’t burn those bridges? You don’t think I burned _everything?_ ”

 

things you said when you were scared

Sweat drenches him all over, has his hair plastering to his forehead. His breathing is dangerously erratic. Tremors ripple through him, shaking him from head to toe. The way he curls in on himself makes his spine jut out from beneath his skin.

“Jesus, what happened?” It sounds much more like a plea than a demand.

“You don’t want to hear about it.” The blankets muffle his voice.

“If whatever’s going on is big enough to make you freak out like this-- which I have _never_ seen before—then, yeah, I kinda want to know.” They pause. “Did you have a nightmare?”

There’s a beat, like he’s deciding whether to answer or not. “Yes.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

Near moves, rests his head against Mello’s thigh, and Mello does their best not to tense up or swat him away. They can feel the way he’s quivering now, and what they can only describe as fraternal protection sets into them fast. One of their hands comes to rest on Near’s head, fingers softly combing through the tangled white curls.

“You’ve got more dirt on me than I’d care to admit, you know,” Mello says. “So it’s not like I’m gonna tell anybody else about this—whatever it is.”

“Why would I share the things I know about you, Mello?” He doesn’t look at them when he speaks, and his voice is barely above a whisper. “Why would I want to put you in danger like that?”

They’d never really thought about that part of it. Or maybe they had, and then they’d pushed it out of their head in order to keep themself on task. Accepting the fact Near cared about them meant they’d been fighting the wrong person, that their anger was for naught because it didn’t go both ways. Even now, with all the lights off and the two of them in the same bed, with Near clutching at the hem of their shirt as he breathes unevenly against their thigh, they don’t want to accept it. They can’t.

“You feel safe like this,” they say, and it’s not a question. “With me.”

He nods, and there’s shame welling up inside their chest, choking them. “Why?”

When he looks at them, his pupils are blown wide from the aftereffects of fear. “I’ve made the executive decision to leave that stone unturned.”

 

things you said over the phone

There is a mess of static, but with the volume Mello is speaking, it doesn’t matter. Near absentmindedly fiddles with the joints on one of his robots as he lets Mello shout on the other end of the line.

“I know you think I did this to get rid of you, but actually—“ Near begins.

“You sent me to a fucking _Lush_ store!”

“Hear me out, alright? It’s very important-- taking a bath without a bath bomb is against the laws of nature.”

“You know, I’ve got some pretty heavy Catholic guilt.” There’s rummaging going on in the background on the other end of the line. Then something drops, and Mello swears. “But I might just have to put that aside for a few minutes while I _brutally murder you._ ”

“I could have sent you so many other places. At least that one smells nice.”

“There are literally three hundred scents happening at the same time and I cannot breathe. You’ve done it, you shit-lord. You’ve killed me. This is where I die.”

“Can you at least get the bath bombs first?”

“I’m breaking your legs when I get back.” Their voice drops significantly in volume. “All these straight girls are flirting with me because they think I’m a guy. Was this your big plan, Near? Destroy me by forcing me to deal with straight, cisgender women?”

“You deal with Halle just fine.”

There’s a snort, and then, “Yeah, she’s—never mind. Just tell me what the hell you want so I can leave.”

Near sifts through a stack of papers until he comes up with a crumpled shopping list. “Okay, I need the pink one with stars on it, the one that looks like a planet, the one that looks like a robot, and then there’s one that’s supposed to look like a flower on the inside.”

There’s a lot of incoherent shuffling for the next five minutes, and Near can hear Mello muttering angrily to themself all the while.

“Wait, wait.”

“What?”

“The last one you wanted is called the _sex bomb?_ ”

 

things you didn’t say at all

When Mello is sick, they hide. That’s been the case for as long as Near can remember. It’s about keeping up a strong façade or something along those lines—he’s never quite figured it out, but almost everything Mello does could be traced back to their need for validation, their need to be strong even when they aren’t.

So when he finds them on the floor in a broom closet, shivering and pale and eyes screwed shut, he isn’t _that_ surprised.

“What part of you decided this was a good idea?” Near asks. “Was it the same part that decided to blow up that building?”

“Ugh, bite me,” Mello groans, bringing their hands to their temples as if any sound causes them physical pain. Near isn’t a doctor, but this can’t possibly mean anything good.

He takes a seat by their knees, reaches out to touch Mello’s forehead; Mello is either to worn out to draw away, or they just don’t care about appearances anymore.

“You have a fever.”

“I noticed,” they say, and their teeth are chattering.

Without another word, Near disappears for a good five minutes before returning with a large quilt bundled up in his arms.

“Can you sit up for me?” He asks, and doesn’t make any comments about how willing Mello is to comply. He unfolds the blanket and wraps it around their shoulders, then fastens it with a safety pin. “So you don’t have to worry about it slipping off.”

Mello is silent, barely responsive, but there’s something in their eyes that Near doesn’t think he’s seen in them before. There was always a part of Mello that had a jagged edge, a rough patch here and there, all sharp corners and scattered thorns. But now, with their eyes glassy and rimmed with red and their whole body shaking as Near tucks their hair behind their ears—there’s something else.

When Mello grabs Near’s hand as he gets up to leave, Near knows what it is, and he doesn’t ask.

 

things you said too quietly

“You said you wanted to know what I dreamt about.”

“That was two weeks ago; I’m not exactly bitter about it. If you wanted to tell me, you would have.”

“Can I tell you now?”

Mello’s face is hidden by the pillow over their head, and they’re tired and in need of sleep, but they speak clearly. “Go for it.”

“I dreamt of hellfire that night.” He does not sound afraid, but then again, Mello can’t see him. He is soft-spoken even in these moments, and his words settle oddly against Mello’s skin. In the dead of night, with nothing but the light of the moon streaming in through the slits in the shades, his voice provides a kind of clarity that Mello would never admit.

They emerge from beneath their pillow, looking skeptical. “ _You_ dream of hellfire.” If anybody were to dream of that sort of thing, Mello would have sooner guessed it would be themself.

“I’ve seen it and felt it. I can see my heart, too, like it’s outside of my body but at the same time it’s not. And it seizes in the dreams, every one of them, like I’m having a heart attack.”

Mello regrets ever starting this conversation, and there is no way they’re going to be able to sleep with those images branded into their brain, but they see no way to backtrack and end it. “Do you die in these dreams?”

“No, never. But others do.”

“Like who, the SPK members?”

“No.”

After a while, it’s obvious Near isn’t going to explain himself unless Mello asks, so they say, “Yeah, okay, then who is it?”

If they aren’t mistaken, there is an irregularity to the way Near is breathing, an uncertainty, like he’s worried what will happen when he tells them.

“Near.”

“It’s you.” He says it quickly and under his breath, and Mello barely catches it.  “You, burning in that fire, every single time. And I can never rescue you because you won’t let me.”

 

things you said that made me feel like shit

They’re hooked up to a little IV stand that they can wheel around. It’s convenient, really, especially when they throw it in the general direction of people who stare too long. They’re even got Gevanni to pee a little bit once.

Near has taken it upon himself to dress and redress their wounds every few days. The burns always itch when the bandages come off, and the Aloe Vera stings like a motherfucker, and the two of them banter as they go about this routine. Sometimes it’s playful, but it’s mostly Mello getting angry and using Near as an outlet.

“I hate you,” they say, casual as anything as Near switches out the IV bag.

“You hate the system we were raised in.”

“No, I hate you.”

“You hate that I was deemed better than you. That wasn’t up to me; that was the system. I never asked to be number one.”

“But you let it happen.”

“It was never my choice.”

Mello is quiet. The rush of cars below them can be heard even from behind the closed windows.

“There are things you’re better at,” Near says, appealing to Mello’s vanity—or lack thereof, in light of recent events. “There are even things you surpass me in that I could never hope of doing. And being in touch with your feelings and expressing them freely isn’t a bad thing. It doesn’t make you weak.”

They’ve been down this road so many times that they’ve basically memorized this exchange like a script, but Near has never said that before. Mello has stiffened and Near worries he might be thrown onto the Legos that were scattered across the floor in the corner. He figures he might as well get as many words in as he can before Mello cracks.

“We can’t be pitted against each other by numbers, Mello. We are more than a grade; we’re more than the letters they gave us. They can’t take all of you or all of me and lump it all together into one overall score. That isn’t fair to anybody.”

“What’s not fair is that every time I’ve come close to winning, to beating you, I’ve been stomped into the ground.”

The look on their face and the tone of their voice signals that there’s no way this will end well if it keeps going, and that Near needs to shut it down pronto.

“Mello, listen to me—“

“Even when we were kids, you’d get all the praise and I was kicked to the dirt.”

“Mello—“

“Don’t tell me that it didn’t matter.” If their eyes could become slits, they probably would be. There’s a kind of ferocity about them, something entirely feral that makes it easy to believe they’ll unsheathe their claws and lash out at him. All he can do is sit there as quietly and as still as possible. All he can do is let Mello speak; he supposes after all this time, Mello deserves that much.

“Don’t tell me those people meant nothing, because they _hurt_ me. _You_ hurt me. And that’s all you ever do, Near.” Their voice is rising with each sentence until they’re at a shout, their blows reverberating off the walls, pushing through windows and breaking through doors. “You just hurt people, step on their toes because they’re nothing compared to the pedestal everyone’s set you on top of. And it’s _bullshit_! Everything you are, everything everyone _thinks_ you are—it’s all bullshit!”

Near can’t tell himself that Mello doesn’t mean these things, because he knows they do. He knows, because there are tears on their face even though Mello never cries, and that’s got to come from a place of truth. These must be things that they’ve held deep inside, things they’re only finally letting go. Mello means all of it, and that’s what hurts the worst.

“I _always_ loved him more than you,” they say, and Near can’t look at them anymore because he isn’t allowed to cry right now. He has no right to be upset. “ _Always_ , and it never even meant anything.”

Near lets Mello have the last word, and watches them storm out with their IV stand dragging behind them.

 

things you said when you were drunk

“I don’t feel so good.”

“I put that together when you threw up all over the floor, but thanks for telling me anyways.”

“Can you turn down your attitude for five minutes? Are you physically capable of doing that?”

“That would suck all the fun out of my life, which is terrible and not much fun at all to begin with.”

The toilet smells like something that should be in a HAZMAT facility, and he thinks that might be his fault. Mello sits on the rim of the bathtub next to him, rubbing his back as he splutters and chokes. He’d thought at first that he liked the feeling of being drunk, but now he’s changed his mind. He thinks that this is what always happens when he drinks.

“Did I leak any government secrets to the general public?” He slurs with his cheek pressed against the seat of the toilet.

“Not any important ones.”

He can hear the smile on their face, which is weird, but it sounds like a nice smile.

“Why did you do this to me?”

“Oh no, you do _not_ get to blame me for this one. You had that bottle of tequila before any of us could stop you.”

Near groans, spits, and reaches to flush the toilet. Mello’s knees are right there, so he lets himself slump over and rests his head on them.

“You puke on these pants and you’re dead.”

“Please just take care of me…” He’s whining, he knows he is, but his whole body feels like an overcooked noodle and he needs someone else to be in charge of him.

Mello’s fingers are running through his hair, and their other hand is at the back of his neck, cooling him down. “We’ll speak of this to no one.”

“I have a reputation to uphold, too. This will not leave this bathroom.”

The room spins and the floor is gone and Near finds himself clutching at Mello’s calves, wrapping himself around them because he’s afraid he’s going to fall into the void below.

“I’ve got you, you’re okay.”

“I’m shitfaced drunk,” Near mumbles. “I’m far from okay.”

“Then you _will be_ okay,” Mello corrects themself. “I’ll take you home as soon as you’re ready, and tomorrow we can continue on with our lives like this never happened. Or at least I pray to God we can.”

Mello’s jacket is draped over his shoulders, and he isn’t lucid enough to know if he says “thank you,” but he hopes he does.

 

things you said at the kitchen table

“You can’t just sit there all day.”

“Never underestimate my ability to idle.”

There’s a cup of coffee in Mello’s hand and they’ve got their hair tied up in a loose bun at the nape of their neck. Near doesn’t think they’re wearing pants—just a giant sweater. He doesn’t think that counts as being properly clothed. “What’s your record for lying on the floor like that?”

“Five days.”

“Don’t you need to piss?”

“I didn’t say five days _nonstop_.”

Mello’s bent in front of the refrigerator, and from where Near is lying, he can see the pale skin of their thighs and now knows for a fact that Mello is wearing a thong. He doesn’t know if that’s better than not wearing any underwear at all.

“Do you eat when you pull this kind of crap?”

“No.”

“Jesus H Christ.” Mello grabs an apple from the fruit compartment and throws it at Near. “You need to eat something.”

Instead of moving to catch it, he rolls over and lets it land with a hard _thunk_ next to him.

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“I think you’ve known me long enough to know that I’m not.”

“Unbelievable—okay, you know what, here’s what’s gonna happen—“ And then Mello is picking him up off the floor and moving him to the kitchen table. They’re still holding their cup of coffee, which warrants a very real threat of first-degree burns for both of them. But Near is plunked down in a chair without any mishap besides the slight wrinkling of his shirt.

“Unless you ask for something else, I’m gonna assume you’ll eat the apple that just got thrown on the floor,” Mello says.

“Why are you so concerned about my dietary habits?”

There’s only a slight scoff at this. “We can’t catch Kira if one of us is dead. I’m not letting you waste away because of malnutrition. And if you die, who knows what your co-workers will do to me? No way they’ll let me be in charge.”

One of Near’s rare, mocking smiles pulls at his lips. “You care about me.”

“Aha, no, no. No. No, I don’t.” Mello sets the apple down in front of him. “Just eat your damn food.”

They get up to leave, and Near calls after them, “Your cheeks are pink.”

“I have seasonal allergies, fuck off!”  

 

things you said i wouldn’t understand

They’re both waiting for the next Q Train to Union Square. It’s been snowing for the past few days, but it’s finally stopped, leaving the air crisp. They track snow onto the platform from their boots. It’s nicer in the winter; the piss smell of the subway is less noticeable than when it’s hot.  

Near had almost slipped on the slush that lined the stairway, and so had Mello, but only because they’d started laughing too hard.

The mittens on his hands make it difficult to do anything, but he doesn’t mind. He enjoys the warmth. His rubber boots tap against the concrete floor as he rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet, and it’s a satisfying sound.

Mello has a wool-knit hat pulled over their head, and their heavy black coat makes them appear especially thin. The scarring hasn’t healed yet, and the angry red marks that still remain draw unwanted looks. There’s noticeable tension in their shoulders, and they have their jaw grit tight like they’re trying not to scream.

“We don’t have to take public transport, if you’d be more comfortable—“

“Shut up.”

When the two of them get on the train, Mello takes a seat on the left by the window to hide their scar. Near does not sit next to them, instead hanging on to one of the poles.

He watches them out of the corner of his eye, seeing the unease in them build up until it reaches its peak. They bolt out of the subway car four stops too early, and Near is so stunned that he almost gets stuck on the train without them.

“Mello!” The roar of the train as it speeds out of the station drowns out his voice, but he doesn’t think they would turn around even if they heard him. There are a few clumps of people and some stragglers, but it’s about as quiet as a New York subway station can get, and Near sees Mello crouched down by the stairs.

He approaches slowly because when Mello is the rough equivalent to a feral animal when they get like this, and Near doesn’t want to get bitten. It’s happened before, when they were children; he still has a small scar on his forearm from it.

They’ve got their rosary clutched in one hand and the other is covering their mouth. They’re taking sharp inhales through their nose, and from the heaving of their chest, it’s clear that breathing is not coming easily to them.

“Do you feel sick?”

Mello shakes their head, but all the color has drained from their face and Near isn’t buying it. 

“Should we return to headquarters? I could call Halle or Rester.” There is no judgment in his voice, no scorn.

“I—I don’t—“ Mello sits down on the bottom stair and cradles their head in their hands. “I don’t know… Jesus, it’s never gotten this bad before…”

He knows he should take them somewhere quiet, but there are no quiet places in the city. “Do you have medication you can take? Xanax, Klonopin?”

“I don’t even have insurance. What makes you think I have a psychiatrist?”

“Then what can I do?”

This earns him a nasty glare. “Don’t talk to me like that,” Mello growls. “Don’t talk like you get it. I don’t know what you’ve got going on in _your_ head, but this is different. You couldn’t even _begin_ —“

They stop when they choke on their words. The anger is making their blood pressure rise, making everything that much worse. One of their hands comes to their chest, fingers digging into the fabric of their shirt. “Fuck, _fuck_ —“

“You have to breathe.” Near would never call himself soft-spoken, but there are certainly moments when he asserts himself more, and this is one of them. “Don’t focus on your anger; that’s not the priority.”  

“I told you not to talk—“

“We are sitting on the ground in the subway, it’s cold as hell, and the noise level up those steps would have you losing your shit in seconds,” Near says. “So don’t snap at me like that unless you’re able to explain what I _should_ be doing, because this is the best I can come up with on the fly. But if you have a better idea, by all means, let me hear it.”

They look like they want to protest, but they’re shaking and there’s a light sheen of sweat developing on their brow. “Fine, just… make sure I don’t die out here, or I’ll kill you.”

Mello spends the next fifteen minutes with their head between their knees, their heartbeat slowly steadying as Near hums the tune to Salve Regina.

 

things you said sitting still

Near is not a religious person, and he doesn’t think he ever will be. But there is something mesmerizing, even comforting, about watching Mello pray the rosary. It’s one of the only instances when Mello seems truly at peace. All their rage seeps out of them as they sit on the edge of the bed, the long chain of beads running through their fingers and their clasped hands pressed to their forehead.

He pretends not to listen because this is personal and Mello must trust him to do it in front of him, but he can’t help but catch some of the muttered words.

“Thy kingdom come, thy will be done—“

They recite the prayers like it’s automatic, the same way people might blink or exhale; but they aren’t monotone. He’s never heard them speak so gently, never heard such faith. The rhythm of their voice trickles in deep, all the way down to his bones.

“--Pray for us sinners, now and in our hour of death—“

Mello is always moving a part of themself, doing something with their hands, bouncing their knee. It’s a side effect of the anxiety, Near’s decided—he hasn’t said anything to Mello about it. But when they pray, everything goes still except for the miniscule shift of their fingers moving to the next bead. There’s a quietness about them, and not the kind that comes just before they explode. It’s the same kind of quiet that rolls in after a big storm finally ends, and it’s welcome after so much rain.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” he begins carefully when he’s sure Mello has recited the last Fatima Prayer. “What do you pray for?”

“The same thing everyone prays for.” The insistent bouncing of their knee hasn’t come back yet.

“And what would that be?”

They don’t look at him, and they don’t let go of the crucifix. “Mercy.”

 

things you said when i was crying

“Was I hallucinating from too much morphine when I saw a priest in here, or did that actually happen?”

“I had Gevanni find a priest, yes.”

“To give me my last rights? C’mon, I’d never go down this easy.”

The sedatives are calming Mello, making it easier to talk to them. In any other scenario, there would be a knife at Near’s throat by now. But Mello is just lying there in that hospital bed, hooked up to machine after machine and covered in bandages. It’s hard to look at without feeling sick to his stomach.

“Where’s—“ Mello shifts a little, turning their head this way and that, as if looking for someone— “Where’s Matt? I told you to get him, I told you, where is he—“

“He’s on his way,” Near promises. “Halle called him a few hours ago; he should be here soon.”

This seems to calm them, if only marginally.

“You need to rest,” he says. He wants to touch them, to stroke their unharmed cheek, to brush their hair out of their face. He gets up and makes to leave, to remove himself from all of this. “I’ll leave you to sleep.”

“Can I just— _wait_ —“ Mello lifts a shaking, pale hand with a butterfly needle stuck into one of the veins and drapes it over the metal railing of the bed. “Can you give me… can I have just one moment of clarity before I slip back under? Can you do that for me?”

Near’s brows furrow. “I don’t understand.”

“Come here.”

Mello’s beckoning him, and for a moment he considers the possibility that one of the nurses had slipped him some morphine, too. He pulls his chair closer to the bed and sits in it again. “What is it?”

When Mello’s thumb brushes against his cheek, his entire body tenses out of fear that he’ll lean into the touch. He can’t show that he wants it, even if Mello won’t remember this.

“You’re crying.” They aren’t making fun of him. It’s a simple statement, a fact, and if Near hadn’t known any better, he’d say there’s a trace of worry.

“I guess I am.” There’s no correct way to respond, but he hates his reply all the same.

Mello looks exhausted, but their eye that’s not covered by bandages is still bright, still too painful to meet head-on. “Why?”

Near laughs a little on his next exhale. “You know, for someone who’s supposed to be L now, you’d think I’d have figured out something so simple.”

Mello’s grin is drug-heavy and sleepy, and they say, “No, you’ve always liked dealing with other people’s shit rather than your own,” before going back to sleep.

 

things you said when you were crying

“I could wait by the car, if you want some privacy.”

“No.” The single syllable is forced, choked out between overwhelming grief and a bubbling temper threatening to boil over. “No, stay with me.”

Saying Near is surprised would be an understatement. He’d been prepared to turn and go, but now he pivots back around and stays where he is, feet planted firmly on the gravel path. He tries not to make any noise, just in case the man they have come to visit decides to speak up from six feet below the ground.

Near dreads this day, not for the way it makes him feel, but because of how it tears Mello apart. He mourns L’s death, even after the years that have passed, and he doesn’t think it will get any easier with time. But it devastates Mello every year, renders them to nothing but the child they had been when they’d first been told of L’s passing.

‘Passing’ seems too peaceful of a word, and Near isn’t one for euphemisms. L had been murdered, plain and simple. He hadn’t passed into the other side of the veil; he’d been thrown into it.

Mello is trying and failing to light up a cigarette, their fingers shaking too hard to properly start the flame.

“I didn’t know you smoked.”

“Only when I especially feel like garbage.” They toss the cigarette to the dirt and rake their hands through their hair. Tears leak from the corners of their eyes slowly, like a broken faucet; it’s not that big of a problem until it becomes clear it won’t stop.

Near takes a step closer. “Can I sit?”

Mello waves their hand, a gesture that shows they cannot give any less of a fuck. “Be my guest.”

He eases himself down, hates the way his back rests against the marble cross that serves as the headstone, hates the soft crunch of the dirt beneath him.

“You loved him,” Near says. “I mean, you _loved_ him, loved him.”

“We’re not eleven again, Near,” they reply, but they don’t argue with what Near has said.

“All I’m saying is…  you’re allowed to be sad.” There’s a lump in his throat that makes it hard to talk, and he wants it to go away along with the tight feeling in his chest.

“I know I’m allowed to,” Mello snaps, and the intimidation factor is lost amidst the tears streaking their face. “I just don’t _want_ to be sad anymore. I don’t _want_ to be angry, I don’t—“

They suck in a breath, and Near tenses, prepares himself for a breakdown that may or may not be about to occur. But then they seem to regain their composure, or rather, what was left of it to begin with.

“This fight—this war, it’s… I’m so tired of it, Near. I’m so tired, and I could sleep for days and it wouldn’t change a thing.”

They don’t look at each other, only stare out at the expanse of trees that dot the horizon.

Finally, Near says, “I don’t think this is the kind of tired that sleeping can fix.”

 

things you said after you kissed me

They’re both lying there, tangled in the sheets from tossing and turning their way through another restless night. It’s early, but not early enough that the sun isn’t up. There are thin streams of light creeping through the gaps in the blinds.

“I don’t love you” are not the typical first words to come out of someone’s mouth right after they kiss another person, but that’s what Near has to work with.

Is he surprised? It would be weird if he weren’t.

Disappointed?

He puts a pin in that one for now.

“Then why’d you do it?” is the first thing he can come up with, the first thing he can find in himself to say.

“Christ, Near, I don’t have all the answers!” Mello pushes themself out of bed and starts rummaging around in the drawers. Near doubts they’re actually looking for clothes; it’s more that it’s just something to do, something other than looking at _him_.

“That’s the only question I’ve asked you—“

“Well, I don’t know.” Mello turns around, looking fit to explode, and Near hasn’t been taught how to dismantle bombs. “We were just lying there, and a part of my brain went ‘hey, you could totally kiss him right now, you could definitely do that,’ and then that part of my brain took over my mouth, and—“

“It doesn’t matter,” Near says loudly even though he doesn’t think that at all and he’s sure that his face makes that apparent. “We can forget about it, okay?”

“But I don’t—“ Mello falters. “I don’t think I want to forget about it.”

Everything simultaneously makes much more sense and gets even more confusing.

“I thought the deal was that you would go back to hating me after we catch Kira,” Near says, and his chest hurts from his heart beating too fast.

“I know, I know… It’s freaking me the fuck out too, and I don’t get it, but I guess something changed. I don’t know when, and I don’t know how, but it did.” Mello takes a hesitant seat on the bed again, crossing his legs. “I’m sorry, I’m—“

“You don’t need to apologize.”

Mello’s gaze snaps up to his, incredulous. “What?”

He can only offer a simple shrug and a small smile as a response, but that seems to be enough.

 

things you said with too many miles between us

“I’m only here because there’s no way you could solve this without me.”

“Didn’t you want to beat me?” Near reminds them. He’s been connecting and disconnecting the same two Lego pieces for the past half hour, listening to the satisfying clicks they make.

“Yes, but beating Kira is the top priority.” Mello had just taken a dose of Oxycontin, and they get oddly talkative whenever they do that. Near had decided to stick around and observe.

“So you’re saying _you_ couldn’t have solved this without me, either.”

“No, you fucking life-sized tampon, that’s not what I’m saying,” Mello bites back—or as much as one _can_ bite back when they’re hopped up on meds. “I wouldn’t be here if I could be in the hospital or in a place of my own, but hospitals keep records of patients and I’m broke as hell. The second these wounds heal and I’m back on my feet, I’m out.”

Near ignores the dull sting in his lungs and continues to play along. “Am I really that bad, Mello?”

“Yes.” They pull the threadbare blanket off the back of the couch and throw it haphazardly around themself.

Near tries his luck, figuring a drugged out Mello might be more willing to share their screwed up, amplified feelings. “I don’t think I’ve done anything particularly damning to you, unless you remember something I don’t.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be better than me? You should be able to figure this out. You took advantage of my failures. You used them to push yourself up.”

Near wants to say that no, he hadn’t done that, but he supposes that Mello wouldn’t believe him anyways. “I’m sorry you feel that way.”

Mello snorts and crosses their arms over their chest. “Don’t patronize me like that.”

“I wasn’t trying to.” Near glances them over, catches how they’re swaying where they sit. “Dizzy?” He guesses.

They look ready to protest, but then they grimace and press a hand to their forehead. “Yeah, and nauseous.”

“Painkillers that strong will do that. You should get some sleep.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” Mello stands up as if to make their exit, but their knees wobble and they stumble. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah, and I’m able to provide basic human needs for myself,” Near says, dripping self-deprecating sarcasm. “Don’t bullshit me, Mello.”

“I don’t even know if that was terrible or just sad.”

“Come on, I’ll help you.”

“I don’t—“

“Right, right, you don’t need help, I know. Humor me, alright?” Near sets his Legos on the table and gets up to help Mello to the door. He reaches for their arm, tries not to be hurt when they pull away, and settles with walking alongside them down the hall.

“Why are you doing this?” They ask.

Near makes a point not to look at them; he isn’t sure he’d be able to say it if he does. “Whether you believe it or not, your feelings aren’t mutual.”

Mello doesn’t say anything else after that.

 

things you said with no space between us

There isn’t anything softer, anything smoother than Mello’s skin, except for maybe the bed sheets.

He’s got his face buried in the crook of their shoulder, but he’s sure he’s leaving angry tiger stripes of red down their back. Mello pulls his hair, rolls the delicate skin of his neck between their teeth, drags their fingernails down the flat plane of his chest, and makes pleasure coil tight in the pit of his stomach.

“Jesus, _Jesus—_ “

“Shh… Jesus doesn’t need to know what we’re doing right now.”

Their voice is velveteen, overwhelmingly sweet, and it has Near’s insides melting like chocolate. They’re unraveling him, cutting him at the seams, and he’s in too much bliss to care.

They move maddeningly slow, like they’ve got all the time in the world to draw this out, to make Near lose his mind as they tease him.  It’s almost predatory, the way they curve their back, the way they look at him through dark blond lashes; their gaze is savage, hungry, and Near is certain they’ll tear him apart.

“You’re loving this,” they murmur between pressing kisses against his inner thighs.

“I love you,” he corrects them without thinking, curling his fingers into the mattress.

Mello freezes. Near can almost swear he sees their nostrils flare, but it’s from fear and not anger. They sit up from their spot between Near’s legs, a mixture of confusion and doubt flickering through their face.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” Near says, not sure there’s any way to backtrack from those three words he’d just let slip like they had been nothing. “This doesn’t need to mean anything—“

“Stop.”

Near pushes himself up onto his elbows. “Mello—“

“ _Stop_.”

Mello advances on him, and for a moment Near thinks he’s about to get punched, but then their lips are pressing down onto his and he stops everything altogether. He stops thinking, stops breathing, stops _existing_ on any other planes of reality besides the ones where the two of them meet. He is nothing but the skin of his hip under Mello’s fingers, the places where their two sets of legs intertwine, and the inimitable feeling of their tongue in his mouth.

When they break apart after centuries, when they return to their own bodies, when Near has to suffer once again with being one person, he asks, “Do you love me?” It sounds stupid coming out of his mouth and he wishes he hadn’t asked.

Mello meets his eyes and nothing sharp is there; only that clear, gentle blue. He’s close enough to them that he can see the freckles that dot their face, that he could probably count them all if he chose to. He wonders if Mello would let him.

“You can be real dumb sometimes, you know that?” Mello says. “ Of course I do.”

Near smiles enough to make his cheeks hurt.

 

things you said when we were on top of the world

The night here is similar to nights in New York. If it weren’t for the sky, no one would ever think it’s close to three in the morning. From the balcony on the top floor, the people scattered on the streets below look like ants. Neon lights are flickering everywhere, dotting all the avenues like giant lightning bugs.

Near’s focus lands on the incessant bouncing in one of Mello’s knees. They’ve got a far away look on their face, one of those thousand-yard stares that plague so many soldiers. “Mello.”

They blink and come back to themself. “Yeah.”  

Near puts down his sidewalk chalk and dusts off his hands, which isn’t productive because now there is orange and green chalk all over his white pants. He doesn’t really care. “You’re dissociating.”

“I guess I’m preoccupied.” Mello sits forward in the lawn chair, rests their elbows on their knees. “We’ve never been this close to Kira before.”

“Are you concerned?”

“That we’re gonna die? Yeah, it’s a possibility.” They’re looking at the sky, looking anywhere but at Near. “How can you kill so many people and feel like you’ve done no wrong?”

“You’ve killed people before,” Near points out. “You were part of a group that makes a living off of killing people.”

“That’s not funny.” Mello’s tone becomes serious. “I know I’m not clean. I don’t need you to remind me that. But I didn’t _want_ to kill anyone. Sometimes I just had to.”

It’s clear that the current conversation would be going nowhere pleasant if they continued. “Alright, change of subject,” Near says. “Matt’s been working on those files for the past week; is he any closer to getting to them?”

Mello looks relieved to have something different to talk about. “He told me he’d have them in the next day or so.”

“Have you spoken with him about--?”

“What--?”

“You know—“

“ _Oh_.”

“Yeah, _oh_.”

Mello wipes a hand over their face. “He, uh—he pretended not to be upset, but I knew he was, and it made me feel terrible.”

“That’s called empathy.”

“I know what it’s called!” Mello protests. “I just didn’t think I had any and it was weird to feel like that.”

“You think it’s better to be perceived as an apathetic asshole? Because it’s not.” Near begins to organize the chalk in the box. “That’s not the point, please continue so we don’t have to talk about this.”

“We—we were never more than friends, at least not officially.  Maybe there was… underlying tension, I don’t know.” Their knee is bouncing violently, and they keep wringing their hands. “Jesus Christ, this is so weird to talk about.”

“Should I get the bourbon from Rester’s room?”

“… Yes.”

They both end up on Rester’s floor with the duvet connecting the bed and the dresser to create a giant blanket fort. They’ve taken pillows and put them on the carpet, but Mello’s legs keep knocking them around. Near is telling Mello things about the American government that he really shouldn’t be, Mello is wearing Near’s shirt, and they both taste like alcohol.

“Okay, okay, wait,” Near puts his fingers to Mello’s lips to quiet them. “We were—we were talking about something before, and I don’t remember what it was, but we should—we should finish that before we do anything—“

“Dumb?” Mello guesses with a snicker.

“I was going to say sexy, but dumb works too.”

Mello takes another swig from the bottle. “You’re adorable.”

“Shut up.”

Mello leans back against one of the pillows. “You were asking about Matt, and what I said to him, right? And I said he was upset at first.”

“You never told me what happened after that.”

Mello gets that far away look on their face again, and it’s not just because they’re drunk. “He told me… He told me that he thinks you’re better for me than he is.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“He said it’s because you question my decisions instead of enabling them, that I needed someone who’s a stubborn hardass like I am, not someone who turns to puddy in my hands.” The smile they give is worn and wounded. “He made it sound like I’ve been using him all this time, and the worst part is that I can’t even be mad at him for it. I’d probably think the same thing.”

“Have you been using him?”

“No! He’s my brother and I love him, but I went four years without speaking to him, and I’m just—I’m just a shitty friend. I’m a shitty person.” 

“Don’t say that,” Near argues. “That’s not true, you—you made a mistake. Everyone does that. All you have to do is apologize.”

Mello stares at their hands and plays with the carpet. “You think that’ll work?”

“You said it yourself. Matt’s your brother. He won’t give up on you just because you’re boning the guy you said you hated.”

Mello looks ready to protest, but Near scoots closer to them, quiets them. “Don’t be sad tonight,” he murmurs. “We have our entire lives to be sad. And like you said, we might die soon. So let’s exist right now, together, before we run out of time.”

Near kisses Mello first, and it quickly escalates from there. The two of them stumble, half-clothed and drunk and laughing, down the hall until they burst into their own room.

They’d started sharing a bed because Near had nightmares and Mello had needed someone to keep them from rolling onto their burned shoulder. Neither of them would have ever predicted it to ever go further than that. But Mello’s burns had scarred up, Near’s nightmares had faded, and here they are, falling onto the mattress in each other’s arms like they’re young and free. 

Neither of them is even old enough to drink, but they are hundreds of years old in time, covered in war wounds, weary from these heavy chains that tie them to a tainted system and a flawed legacy. That is why they fall in each other’s arms now; they have nothing else to hold on to.

The night drags on in time with their mouths on each other’s bodies, and as the sky grows darker, they feel more at peace. They fall into writhing patterns of arching spines and curling toes and gasping breaths. Strands of hair get caught in one another’s fingers, knees knock together, and teeth are everywhere. They bruise each other and leave scratches; they brand each other with the words _you’re mine, you’re mine, you’re mine_ underneath every blossom of broken capillaries and every tear of skin.

They keep hold of one another even as they wait for sleep.

“What you said before.” Mello is quiet, like they’re afraid they’ll be heard if they speak any louder. “You really don’t think I’m a shitty person?”

“You want me to be honest?” Near holds them closer, feels the pounding of their heart against his hand. “I think we’re all shitty people.”

 

things you said after it was over 

How Near is L’s first successor (by default, he always reminds himself it’s only by default), but he still hadn’t seen this coming, was baffling to him. Of course Mello would crack, of course they would go out and do something reckless to save their ego, of course they would throw caution to the wind because of their bravado and their need for validation. Near hates himself for not realizing this sooner, and he hates himself for not being able to do anything about it now.

“Mello, you can’t be serious—“

“I have to do this. I have to. This is the only way you’ll be able to catch him.”

“That’s not even remotely true, everything you just said is a lie—“

“Near, listen to me.” There’s a screech of car tires and muffled swearing that was definitely from Matt. “We have a plan. Matt’s gonna use a smokescreen to cause a diversion, I’m gonna pull up and Halle’s gonna give Takada to me—“

“Halle is in on this, too?”

“She’s just doing a hand-off, don’t sound so offended.”

“You’re right, you’re right. I should be content with the idea that you’re all going out there behind my back only to get yourselves killed.”

“Hey, hey!” Matt is shouting, presumably, from the driver’s seat. “Nobody’s gonna die, alright? Mello’s keeping his—shit, _their_ , sorry-- their helmet on, so nobody’s gonna see their face.”

“And you?” Near asks.

“C’mon, I’m a professional driver. I’ll bulldoze these guys if I have to.”

“We’ve got a plan in place, Near,” Mello says. “Hopefully it all goes smoothly. If anything, I’ll be the one that doesn’t make it out.”

“Was that supposed to make me feel better? Because you did a shit job.” Near’s voice is raised now, something he isn’t used to doing.

“If your theory that Takada and Kira are directly connected is true, then he’ll kill her if he thinks she’s a liability. We’ll have evidence on Light, and we’ll be able to put him away.”

“That doesn’t matter, we have other options.” Near’s heartbeat has picked up to the point that it’s painful, and he’s growing more frantic by the second. “What matters—“

“If you say that my safety is what matters, I will hang up on you.”

“Mello, _please_.” Near is begging. He doesn’t like begging.  

“Only I can do it. You know that.” Their voice gets softer. “For what it’s worth… we had a good run, and I don’t regret any of it. I don’t regret us.”

“Do not do this,” Near grinds out between his teeth because that’s the only thing that’s preventing him from screaming. “I swear to God, Mello, don’t do this to yourself, don’t do this to _me_.”

“Hey, Mello, we’re coming up on the drop zone,” Matt says. “You should probably tuck and roll soon, get to your bike.”

“Yeah, okay.” Mello turns back to the phone. “You know when I said I prayed for mercy?” They say, casual as ever, like they aren’t riding straight into the belly of the beast. “That wasn’t entirely true.”

“What are you talking about?”

“People ask for forgiveness for things they’ve done in the past. _I_ asked to be forgiven for things I knew I would do in the future. Everyone is born with the original sin, and there’s nothing we can do to wipe ourselves completely clean. I pray for God to understand that I’m human, and that I will always sin. I pray to be forgiven for the inevitable.”

Near is holding one of his finger puppets so tightly that the plastic is beginning to break. “How is this relevant, Mello?”

“Right now, I’m not talking to God. I’m talking to you. And I’m asking you to forgive me.”

“For what?”

“For what I’m about to do.”

“Mello, don’t--!”

The line goes dead, and Near’s finger puppet of himself shatters in his hand.

 

things you never got the chance to say

There is no body, no casket. No one could find the sign of a body under the rubble of the church, not even Takada’s, and that gives Near a little burst of pride. Mello had gone down and taken everything around them with them in the process. They had always been one for the theatrics.

Near’s mind wanders during the service. He keeps thinking of how Mello would be muttering quips under their breath and sneaking pieces of chocolate from their jacket pocket into their mouth. He keeps thinking of the smooth curve of their winged eyeliner, the click of their boots against tile, the revving of a motorcycle and the sound of gunshots. He thinks of Mello dying for him, and he can’t stop himself from crying.

Matt sits next to him, and it’s uncomfortable at first, but then he tries to bum a cigarette from Gevanni and the mood picks up. His body is punctuated with stitches, and he’d shown Near one that had passed clean through his waist, right next to his hip bone.

“Cool, huh?” He’d said. “I think it’ll be great for parties.”

Near knows the concept of masks all too well, has mastered it himself. But he can’t understand how Matt can pull this off. How can he act like this when someone he loves is gone forever?

After the service, while people are paying their respects or going back to their cars, Near asks him that.

“First off, Jews don’t believe in Hell, so the possibility of eternal punishment is off the table from the get-go,” Matt starts. “And second—look, man, even if you believe in all that stuff, it doesn’t make much of a difference _here_ , right? They’re gone, that’s that, nothing we can do about it. Wherever they went is their business, and worrying about that is a waste of time.”

“You and Mello are both terrible at making people feel better,” Near says.

“No, no, I wasn’t done,” Matt objects. “You gotta think about it this way: we're all sort of like pizzas. Some of us have some weird toppings, or no tomato sauce, or cheese in the crust, but at our core, we’re all the same.”

Near is too stunned to say anything, and Matt takes this as his cue to keep going.

“And like pizzas, we are split up into as many slices as the amount of people we’re shared with. Maybe when it’s all over, the pizza box is empty, but it’s okay because we all enjoyed a wonderful pizza, and we will hold a slice of that pizza in ourselves forever.” Matt gestures to Mello’s grave. “You’ve still got a piece of them. I do, too. And now that they’re gone, it’s our job to keep them alive. No one truly dies as long as they’re remembered.”

As convoluted and objectively terrible as Matt’s metaphor had been, he’d had a valid point.

Near looks at the large, ornate cross with Mello’s name scrawled across the center, and despite Matt’s words, he can’t help but wonder where they’ve gone. He’s never been good at goodbyes, especially when he feels so hollow on the inside. He wishes Mello were here; they would know what to say. If Mello had it their way, Near thinks, they probably _would_ have spoken at their own funeral.

“I’m sorry I took them from you,” is all he can think of.

Matt snorts. “C’mon, that’s not what happened.” But his eyes are glassy and he’s turning away to be discreet as he wipes them, like it’s only allergies and not that his heart’s been broken. “Also, terrible phrasing. Nobody _takes_ Mello from anybody else. It’s their choice who they care about.” His smile is pained, and a part of his front breaks. “They must’ve thought you were worth it.”

Gevanni walks by and Matt says he needs to go because he needs a smoke or he might keel over right there in the cemetery, and then they’d have _another_ funeral to plan, and how _terrible_ would that be, and Near is left alone.

“Was I worth dying for?” He asks, aware that he won’t get an answer but hoping for one anyways. “Are you happy with your choice?”

He knows what _he_ thinks, and it’s that nothing could be worth this. He’d spend the next ten years looking for Kira if it meant that Mello would be there to do it with him.

Bargaining for someone’s life in his head is useless. No one is listening, and mortality is callous.

He turns his back on the tombstone and makes his way down the hill, leaving a part of himself in that graveyard.

**Author's Note:**

> _Find what you love and let it kill you. – Charles Bukowski_


End file.
